Sychofant
by Vanilla Is Not Plain
Summary: Yuuri is Viktor's chair - but Yuri will be his fan. That's right - it's DiAnna44's Chair AU. Utter crack.


A/N: My hand slipped. I'm sorry.

This was originally posted on AO3, and is entirely inspired by DiAnna44's Chair AU. She's much better at this than I am. (There are two stories so far that you can find under her username at AO3: 'I'll Chairish You Always' and 'Couldn't Chair Less (No, Really)'. You can also find her here at FanFiction dot net, but those stories aren't there currently. There is a different chair!AU by others that is much more adult that I can't read).

The premise that Viktor bought the Yuuri model of chair from Ikea (from the next city over - he's banned from his own), as well as the convention that the model names are italicized, are hers. I just... accidentally wrote this. Sorry about that. I'll just post it now so I can regret it later.

Soon after buying his new chair _Yuuri_ , Viktor's fan broke.

It couldn't have happened at a worse time. He'd been sitting in _Yuuri_ one hot and humid morning, melting into a puddle, and suddenly, his tabletop fan gave up the ghost with a breathy gasp.

Viktor sniffed disconsolately. _Chris_ had been a good friend to him, ever since he'd moved in. It'd be missed.

It'd also be replaced. Viktor had no intention of slamming open the doors to the rink each morning and announcing his long-anticipated arrival - he meant slipping into practice late - with his gorgeous silver fringe plastered with sweat on his forehead. Not that he was concerned such a thing would highlight his (not receding) hairline. That didn't worry him at all.

Anyway, this meant that Viktor trekked back to the neighboring city's Ikea. He slipped in quietly, wearing sunglasses and a hat dipped low over his not-large brow. It wasn't because he was anticipating that the store had finally heard from their sister-satellite and now banned him. Not at all. It was because of his myriad of fans. They always seemed to find him wherever he went.

Except for today, apparently. Try as he might, Viktor could not find the fan section. In the rink bleachers, it was located right behind the press section. A thorough search behind the rows of gleaming panini presses (and even the clothes steamer presses afterwards, just in case) proved fruitless (and panini-less - shopping for fans was hungry work).

Sometime later, a newly hired employee opened the door to a display high efficiency clothes washer and discovered a fashionably scarved and shaded handsome man squished inside, with a newsboy cap pulled low over his darkened face. She politely asked if she could help him. The man muttered something about "permanent press", removed his elbow from his spleen, squeezed outside, and asked if she had happened to see any fans nearby.

"No, but if you could just point me in the direction of your fan club, I'd be happy to become yours," the bemused employee sincerely informed him.

The attractive man frowned. "How many speed settings do you come with?"

She frowned back, stared at him silently for a bit, switched off the big blinking light bulb that appeared over her head and asked, "Perhaps you're looking for the small home appliance section?"

The dreamy man looked at her warily. "I just want a fan."

The employee decided that this would do and led him in the correct direction.

On the way, they passed by a furniture display. The beautiful man blinded her with a brilliant heart-shaped smile and cooed over a particular model. She glanced over it dismissively as she walked past - it was just a dime-a-dozen brand.

Soon enough, they arrived at the home appliance section, and the employee left the unearthly gorgeous but decidedly odd man to his own devices.

After being distracted by a particularly cheerfully bright lamp - Viktor resolved to purchase _Phichit_ if his _Georgi_ ever kicked the bucket (Which looked all too likely - it had been dimming slowly but surely ever since Viktor had accidentally microwaved that fork in _Anya_ ) - Viktor finally perused the fans. There were so many - some were blustery and playful, like _Mila_ , some sent cool and composed breezes like _Otabek_. Viktor enjoyed sticking his face directly in front of each one of them and switching them on at full blast, until his hat was lifted completely off his head and his eyes dried out behind his sunglasses.

But his decision was made when his eyes lit upon one particular model ("Best Value!", the gold medal sticker by the price listing proclaimed). It was short - far shorter than the others - and seemed to blast a lot of hot air compared to its companions (exposing his most certainly NOT receding hairline quite conspicuously). But all that paled in comparison to what it was called. Viktor feverishly wrote out the purchase information and practically skipped to get checked out, all but humming the scrawled brand name under his breath. He just knew he was fated to find _Yurio_ today.

"It's not _Yurio_ ," the cashier assisting him at checkout corrected. "It's called _Yuri_."

"Even better," Viktor told him.

Viktor got home, unwrapped the package, withdrew and tossed the instructions into the wastebin, and set up his new fan beside his favourite chair. They looked (and sounded!) perfect next to each other. _Yuuri_ and _Yuri_. It was meant to be. Viktor would have been certain that _Yuuri_ even looked a little different with _Yuri_ beside it, like it was reacting to a new presence in its territory, but that was of course ridiculous. Chairs can't sense anything.

Satisfied with a job well done, Viktor nodded at the pieces of home furniture and traipsed over to the kitchenette (All that panini searching had left him very hungry, but unfortunately it looked like all he had left was leftover borscht, chocolate syrup, and a dried out pickle. Again).

Just as soon as his back was turned, he heard a terrific crash from his bed/living space. Viktor whirled around, just in time to witness his beloved chair rolling pathetically on its side on the carpet. His new fan's narrow base rotated to a slow stop on the floor next to it, sticking a perfect landing from its previous position on the desk / table.

Viktor blinked at the pair. If he squinted, he could imagine a smug tilt to the blades whirling within _Yuri_ 's metal cage, and an answering cowering shiver in _Yuuri_ 's wooden legs. But that was, of course, impossible. Fans, like chairs, don't have feelings, after all.

A/N: This fanfiction does not advise entering washing machines (and especially not closing the door behind you), nor microwaving metal utensils.

If you're worried about Chris, don't be. It was adopted by a neighbor after Viktor left it by the dumpster. It still spins to perfection. Viktor had just popped the GFCI breaker it was plugged into. Yay happy endings for everyone (except Anya I guess, and maybe Yuuri)!

Bonus: Makkachin had a cameo - as the carpet. Seung-Gil is Viktor's refrigerator. JJ is a boombox at Ikea, but no-one will buy it because it's been phased out by bluetooth speakers. Yakov is still Yakov.


End file.
